


that line between your heart and mine

by ktlsyrtis



Series: seasons of love [2]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Letters, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26394544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/pseuds/ktlsyrtis
Summary: Back from a life changing holiday in France, Serena and Bernie embark on a long distance relationship
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Series: seasons of love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918315
Comments: 39
Kudos: 113
Collections: to be continued... (Berena Summer Sequel Event)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Skating in at the finish with my _to be continued..._ entry! As always, it takes a village to write a fic. Thanks to Beth for the suggestion on which fic to follow up on and her unending support. To Bonnie for her exceptional beta skills, idea generation, and cheerleading. And last, but certainly not least, to my darling Bat, co-member of the bi-alliance - it's been my incredible pleasure to put this event together with you, and even more to call you my friend <3

It seems so strange to Serena that Holby is exactly the same. It’s only been a week, of course, why would it be any different? But so much has changed for her in that time, it makes the place that’s been her home for years feel different too, like an old coat that’s now a size too small.

Standing in line in Pulses, she wonders idly if anyone else can tell. If there’s something in her bearing that announces to all and sundry that Serena Cambell had sex with a woman. And, oh, what incredible sex it was! Biting back a smile, she shifts her weight from foot to foot, tries not to think about the slowly fading purple mark on her collarbone, not to mention the several littered across the insides of her thighs. 

She tries _very_ hard not to think of how they got there; doesn’t quite manage it.

She and Bernie ended up staying at _Les Jumeaux_ an extra night; neither of them needed to be back right away, and in the end they couldn’t find a reason not to. They’d spent most of the day in bed, talking in between bouts of thorough explorations of each other’s bodies. In the end, they decided to keep in touch, to get to know one another better without the distraction of sex between them. It was easy enough to do, what with Serena returning to Holby and Bernie flying back to serve in Sudan.

While their burgeoning relationship hasn’t really changed much about her day to day life, Serena holds it in her heart like an ember, warming her from the inside until she feels like she’s glowing with it.

She’s still smiling when she pushes through the doors of AAU, the hum of barely organized chaos strangely soothing. Making her way to her office, she catches Raf’s eye at the nurse’s station, and she’s barely slipped her coat off when he steps through the door after her.

“Welcome back, boss,” he says with a cheeky grin. “How was your holiday?”

Serena feels heat climbing her neck as she hangs her coat, momentarily overcome by the memory of Bernie grinning up at her from between her thighs. Shaking her head sharply, she pulls off her scarf, flashing Raf a smile.

“It was lovely, thank you. Nice to have some quiet time away.” She turns back to her desk, clicking on her computer as she settles in her chair with a sigh.

AAU must be quieter than she thought, Raf quickly settling down in one of the visitor’s chairs.

“Did Sian have you working the whole time?” It’s always strange for her to remember that Raf and Sian know one another. Even stranger when she remembers the extremely inappropriate stories Sian told her after their one and only date. “Or did you have a chance to have some fun?”

The flush in her cheeks flares hotter, and she hides behind a sip of her coffee, hissing a bit as it scalds her tongue. She shrugs with a noncommittal hum, hoping that will be answer enough for the handsome registrar.

It is not.

“I sense a bit of holiday romance,” Raf teases, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Go on then, who’s the lucky man?”

“That is none of your concern,” Serena says primly. “Besides, in case you’ve forgotten, we are at work. Patients to see, lives to save.”

“You’re no fun at all.” Getting to his feet, Raf heads to the door, his feigned pout fading back into a grin. “Albie’s later?”

Serena rolls her eyes. “Of course. It is a day ending in -y, after all.”

Chuckling, Raf walks back out onto the ward.

Alone in her office once again, Serena tries to force her thoughts away from Bernie, focusing instead on the backlog of emails and paperwork that piled up in her absence. Fortunately no one else disturbs her for a good while, and by the time she pauses to stretch her neck her inbox is nearly empty.

Yawning a bit, she turns her attention to the stack of mail, sorting it quickly into things that require her attention, and those that can go in the bin, when she comes across a slightly battered looking envelope. 

She frowns.

Instead of the neat type of a computer printout she’s used to see, this one is handwritten: her name in a bold, dark scrawl above the hospital’s address. She glances up at the corner, the unfamiliar postmark only deepening her confusion. 

Sliding a finger beneath the edge, Serena opens the envelope, pulling out a sheet of paper in the same penmanship. She scans it over as she unfolds the letter, breath catching in her throat.

_Serena -_

_I’m sorry for sending this to you at the hospital. I was going to wait until I arrived in Sudan, but I wanted to make sure this didn’t get lost in the post._

_That excuse sounds even more ridiculous now I’ve written it down. The truth is I’m in my hotel room on a layover and when I pulled on my shirt this morning, it still smelled like your perfume. Suddenly I couldn’t go a moment longer without being in touch with you._

_I received a change in orders just as I left. Seems email and cell service are going to be pretty dicey, so old fashioned letters will be the most reliable method of communication. There’s something a bit romantic about it, don’t you think? Lord, I’m getting soppy in my old age!_

_I’ve included the address of the base’s mail depot at the bottom of the page. I hope you’ll write. But even if you don’t, remember that I’ll be thinking of you._

_Yours,_

_B x_

Serena’s fingers twist her pendant in the hollow of her throat, heart beating so fast she can feel it fluttering beneath her fingers. Some unacknowledged tension releases in her, the relief leaving her a little light headed. 

She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but a part of her feared that once they left the sanctuary of the cozy inn, Bernie might change her mind about it all. That she may realize a long distance relationship with a practical stranger is more trouble than it’s worth. Having the proof in hand that it was more than just a holiday fling, that Bernie is still thinking about Serena too, makes a wave of relief rush over her.

Tracing a finger lightly over the ‘B’, she reads the words again. It’s like she can hear Bernie speaking them - that wry, husky voice in her ear - can imagine she’s there in the room. It’s more intimate than she could’ve imagined.

For the first time she lets herself truly hope this will work out after all.

She’s just beginning her third read through when she hears her name being called. Tucking the letter in her desk drawer with a sigh, she heads out onto the ward, turning her focus to the job at hand.

\- - - 

Serena’s still in her scrubs when she gets back to her office hours later, hair mussed from the cap she only just pulled off. The surgery went well, but all she can think of now is getting a very large, strong coffee, and a few moments to herself. 

So of course the phone on her desk starts to ring.

She scowls at the device, briefly thinks of ignoring it all together, but relents. Dropping heavily into her chair, she picks up the receiver.

“Serena Campbell.”

“Hello, darling!” Sian’s chipper voice comes down the line. “I was calling to thank you for your help. The place looks better than I left it!”

“Well that’s hardly much of a challenge,” Serena teases, leaning back further into her seat. “How was Capri?”

“Sunny. Thank goodness we were staying near a topless beach, otherwise the tan lines would be _dreadful_.” Rolling her eyes, Serena can’t help but smile at her friend’s antics. “And how was your holiday? No trouble? Besides all the snow, of course.”

“No, no trouble.” She tries to keep her voice neutral. “It was mostly quiet.”

“I was looking at the guest book. Did the wife really come by herself?”

“Yes. I guess she and her husband are splitting, and the children were otherwise occupied.”

“Oh, Rena, now I’m doubly sorry I asked you. I know from years past what a stick in the mud the Wolfe woman can be. I can’t imagine being trapped alone with her the entire time.”

A spark of defensive anger heats Serena’s voice. “Bernie’s not a ‘stick in the mud’. Not at all! Which you would have realized if you’d ever bothered actually speaking to her. We had a lovely time together.”

Silence stretches over the phone line, and Serena winces, kicking herself for giving away so much.

“Is that right?” Sian’s voice is deceptively mild. “And what exactly did you two get up to while you were snowed in?”

 _Shit_. Serena scrambles to come up with a reasonable lie. The very last thing she wants is to blurt out that she spent several days extremely naked with one of Sian’s guests.

“Oh, you know. Talked.” It sounds lame even to her own ears, and she knows - _knows_ \- there’s no way Sian is going to fall for it.

“Serena Wendy Campbell.” Sian’s voice gets higher with each word. “Did you _shag_ Bernie Wolfe?!”

“Um. No?”

Serena pulls the phone away from her ear, certain that half the ward can hear the screech that comes down the line. Glancing around, she sets the receiver on the desk, quickly locking the office door and clicking shut the blinds. Only when the room is as secure as she can make it does she return to the phone.

“-ear to god, if you’ve hung up on me I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Serena says as she sits. “I had to lock the door before some poor patient heard you screaming.”

“Well can you blame me? Tell me everything!”

Serena leans back with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “I hardly know where to begin.”

“With the sex, obviously.” Serena can practically hear Sian’s leer. “I have to admit, that explains more than it doesn’t. So, was she good?”

“Sian!”

“Oh come on, Rena. We both know you're dying to tell me. I can hear it in your voice.”

Serena scowls, mostly because she knows Sian’s right.

“She’s…” Serena hesitates, trying to find a way to put it all into words. “ _Incredible_. Kind, funny, sweet, gorgeous. Honestly, Sian, I’ve never met anyone like her.”

“And in bed, she’s…” Sian prompts, and Serena can’t help but chuckle.

“Quite possibly the best I’ve ever had. My legs are _still_ sore.”

A gleeful cackle issues from the receiver. “Oh well done, Rena! You’ve needed a good seeing to for ages, and a no-strings holiday shag is just the ticket. You’re welcome for making you go, by the way.”

“That’s the thing, Sian. It wasn’t just a no-strings holiday shag.” Serena forces her hand back to the armrest when she notices her fingers are twirling the phone cord like she’s a love struck teenager. “At least, I don’t want it to be. And I don’t think that’s what Bernie wants, either.”

There’s a long pause that has Serena practically squirming in her seat. Sian’s been her best friend for the better part of thirty years, and in that time there’s never been anything they’ve shared that damaged that bond, that they judged one another for. It never occurred to her that this could be any different.

“Well I never,” Sian eventually replies, something like genuine surprise in her tone. “Serena Cambell: lesbian.”

Serena laughs, as much out of relief as anything else. 

“I’m not sure I’d say that, but I do think this might be the real thing.” Saying it so plainly is terrifying and thrilling in equal measure, like coming to the top of a roller coaster and pausing just before the fall.

“Oh, darling, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you!” The tenderness in her voice makes Serena’s eyes go a bit misty. There’s a bit of a shuffling noise in the background. “Damn, the week’s guests are here. Next time in Holby, I’m getting you drunk and you’re going to tell me every single filthy detail, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Serena says with a smile. “I look forward to it.”

\- - - 

Albie’s is already bustling when Serena arrives, but she only has to glance around for a moment before she sees Fletch waving from across the room. He’s managed to snag the comfortable couches, sitting alongside Raf and Ric. On the one hand, she’s happy to see them all. On the other, she can already tell from their eager smiles that she’s in for the grilling of a lifetime. Hanging her coat on one of the hooks, she ponders what kind of scut work she can assign Raf in the near future.

When she reaches the table, there’s already a bottle of Shiraz breathing, a glass poured beside it. Another bad sign. Still, she’s never been one to say no to free wine. Sinking into one of the overstuffed chairs with a sigh, she takes a long sip from her glass.

“So,” Ric begins, eyes gleaming. Apparently he’s been assigned a leadership role in this little club. “Raf says you met someone on holiday.”

Serena rolls her eyes. “Can’t I even have a glass of wine before the inquisition commences?”

“Ah, come on, boss.” Fletch spreads his hands with a boyish grin. “We just want you to be happy, yeah?”

“You just want gossip before anyone else, more like,” Serena grumbles, but there’s no heat in it. After her conversation with Sian, she’s still bubbling with the urge to tell anyone who’ll stand still long enough to listen about Bernie, even as it's tempered by the worry of what telling them everything may mean.

“All right, fine. I did meet someone while I was away.” Despite her best efforts, a hint of a smile dances on her lips. “A medic, actually. In the RAMC.”

“A soldier!” Raf smirks, raising his pint in a cheeky toast. “Never took you for one to have your head turned by a man in uniform.”

‘Man’ feels like a landmine that Serena’s not yet sure how to navigate, but she also doesn’t want to lie to her friends.

“Well it was the holidays, so there were no uniforms involved.”

“Is he still enlisted?” Leave it to Ric to ask about logistics. Serena just nods as she swallows another mouthful of wine.

“Doing a tour in Sudan as we speak.”

All of their eyebrows raise a bit at that. Serena thinks she sees a sharpness in Ric’s gaze; of anyone he’s the most likely to rumble her the fastest.

“So where does that leave you two?” Raf asks, smiling kindly.

“It’s early days yet,” Serena says. “We’re keeping in touch by letter, if you can believe it, and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

“A big strong soldier, _and_ a romantic?” Fletch shakes his head. “He’s putting the rest of us to shame!”

“What’s this mystery man’s name?” Ric asks, watching her carefully. Serena’s tongue flicks out to wet her lips, not quite meeting Ric’s eyes.

“Bernie.” 

That makes Fletch scrunch his nose a bit. “Bernie, really? Like, Bernard?”

Serena’s heart leaps into her throat as if on the verge of making a run for it. _Now or never…_

“Actually, like Berenice.” It feels like the whole pub goes quiet at that. At the very least, all three of the men are looking at her with remarkably similar stunned expressions. “Bernie...Bernie isn’t a man.”

When they still don’t respond, something like panic sets it.

“She’s a woman. Bernie, I mean.” The words blurt out of her, a little louder than she expected, and Serena feels heat rising in her cheeks. “It was all very unexpected. It’s like I _knew-_ , well, looking back, maybe. We have a lot in common and we started talking and the next thing you know.” Her hands draw vague gestures, as if she could summon an explanation out of thin air. “And I don’t know if we’re-, if she-, I mean it all maybe be nothing. I mean, not _nothing_ , of course. At least I hope. And...well, there you have it.”

“Berenice.” Ric says her name slowly, thoughtful frown slowly morphing to surprise. “Do you mean Berenice Wolfe? The trauma surgeon?”

Serena blinks, a little taken aback. Somehow she hadn’t expected the first question to be about Bernie’s credentials. “Yes...”

“I just read her article on new theories in advanced trauma laparotomies in the field. Groundbreaking stuff.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “And if she can make you smile like that, then I think it’s brilliant.”

“D-do you?” Relief washes over her, a knot of emotion rising in her throat.

“Absolutely,” Raf chimes in, nudging Fletch lightly in the ribs to break him from his apparent stupor. Mouth snapping shut, Fletch breaks into a wide grin.

“I’d say this deserves a toast.” He lifts his pint a bit grandly. “To Bernie.”

“To Bernie,” they all say as one, glasses clinking lightly together. And if the lights suddenly reflect a little wetly in Serena’s eyes, they’re all gentlemen enough to ignore it.

\- - - 

It’s the weekend before Serena gets a moment alone to work on her reply, the week disappearing in a mountain of outstanding paperwork. She made a point to stop by the little stationer’s shop in town on the way home, picked up a pack of tasteful letter paper and envelopes, along with a few new pens.

Sitting at her kitchen table the next morning, Serena smooths her fingers across the crisp white sheet of paper.

_Dear Bernie,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I imagine it must be terribly hot in Sudan, even this time of year. It’s still cold and dreary here, but what else would you expect?_

_I was glad to receive your letter. It was_

She breaks off with a disgusted _tsk_. It sounds like something she’d have written an assigned pen pal in primary school, not a woman who she can’t stop thinking about kissing. Balling up the paper in her fist, she flings it in the direction of the bin, missing by a good few inches. Stares down at the new sheet of paper for a moment, fiddling the pen between her fingers.

What does she even want to say to Bernie? _I miss you. I worry about you. I think about touching you all the time_. That all seems awfully forward, given how new things are between them. Then again, perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps that’s exactly what Bernie needs to hear.

For a moment, she imagines Bernie is there - sitting across the table, sipping a mug of coffee with that lopsided little grin on her face, the one Serena always wants to kiss away. Imagines what she would say, what they’d talk about.

Smiling softly, she once again puts pen to paper.

_My darling Bernie,_

_It’s different, being back here. Holby’s been my home for such a long time now, and it's the sort of place where very little changes. I pass the corner shop on my way to the hospital, see Mr Richards standing outside each morning. I get my favorite takeaway, drive the same streets that I could navigate in my sleep. And yet, I find it feels like something’s missing. Some part of me I’ve left behind._

_I rather think it might be you._

_You’re right about the romanticism of letters - it’s certainly making me a bit maudlin!But I do miss you. Far more than I expected._

_I forget sometimes that we had so little time together when you’re all i can think about now. Something happens in my day, and my first thought is ‘I have to tell Bernie’. What is it about you, that you worked your way into my life so quickly?_

_Speaking of your place in my life, I told some of my colleagues - my friends - about you. I hope that’s all right. They were lovely about it all. I hadn’t realized how nervous I was until that moment. I certainly never expected to be coming out of the closet this side of fifty!_

_I’ll wrap this up, before I embarrass myself even more. I hope you’re doing well in Sudan, and that you’re staying safe. Know that I’m thinking of you too, and looking forward to the next time I get to see your face, whenever that may be. In the meantime, I'll be glad to write you as much as you’d like._

_Take care, my darling._

_Yours,_

_Serena xxx_

Satisfied, she glances over the letter one last time. A sudden thought occurs to her, and she pushes back from the table, heads up to her bedroom. Returns a moment later with the bottle of her favorite perfume that sits on her makeup table. It feels ridiculous, but she reminds herself of Bernie’s words as she lightly spritzes the page, wafting it back and forth, careful not to smear the ink.

She finds herself smiling as she folds the sheet and tucks it away in the matching envelope, dropping it in her handbag to mail in the morning. Is still smiling as she makes her way up to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, friends!

They get into a rhythm as winter gives way to a chill British spring, exchanging letters as often as they can manage. Serena finds herself mentally tucking away funny anecdotes, stories that she wants to tell Bernie, saves them up for the evenings where she can sit down with a glass of wine and a fresh piece of stationery.

No matter how many letters she receives, Serena’s heart always beats a little faster when she recognizes the handwriting on an envelope in the post, can hardly wait to find the time to read Bernie’s words. She can see Bernie’s personality in every bold stroke of the pen, likes to imagine how she’d say the words out loud, elegant hands gesturing to punctuate a particular point.

The stories she tells are fascinating; tales of saving lives under the desert sun like some hero from an adventure story. Serena develops a surprisingly detailed vision in her mind of Bernie, decked out in camo, hair bleached even blonder, skin tan, muscles glistening in the harsh sunlight. She knows it’s not likely to be the reality, but it is a...compelling fantasy, to be sure.

For her part, Serena tries to keep things light. She goes on about patients with amusing maladies, without mentioning Guy Self’s latest bid for the CEO position. Tells Bernie about Elinor’s upcoming experimental play, and not that her daughter has hardly spoken to her for weeks. It’s not that she doesn’t want to tell Bernie these things. It’s that, for all that they never really discuss it, she knows the specter of danger that Bernie operates under each day. The very real possibility of something terrible happening at any moment. How can she burden Bernie with trivial problems, when she’s risking her life?

Instead, Serena tells charming stories and flirts for England, always makes a point to tell Bernie that she’s thinking of her. It never really goes past flirting, maybe the occasional acknowledgement of the time they spent together in France. For her part, Bernie hasn’t crossed that line either, and it makes Serena hesitate to admit just how often she imagines Bernie back in her bed, or pretends her hands are Bernie’s as she touches herself in the dark.

Tonight she’s working an overnight at the hospital. It’s something she does rarely, but actually enjoys, in a way. AAU is quieter on the night shift, barring any emergencies, the patients mostly asleep, and there’s something almost soothing about the slower pace, the way everyone keeps their voices a little lower.

Knowing that getting through the late hours would be a challenge, she brought Bernie’s latest letter with her, saved it for just this occasion. She pulls it from her handbag, opening the envelope in her office, which is dark save for the warm light of the desk lamp, takes a sip of her coffee as she reads.

_Serena -_

_You won’t believe it. I actually got a letter from Cameron today! It’s the first time he’s written since well before the divorce. He didn’t have much to say, mostly that he hoped I was doing well and staying safe. Still, I can’t help but take this as a good sign. Maybe he and Charlotte will come round, eventually, realize that not every terrible thing their father told them about me is true._

_I was actually thinking about Marcus the other day, while I was rereading your last letter. That came out wrong - believe me, you’re nothing like my ex-husband._

_When I was on tour, when the kids were small, Marcus’s letters were always about the pictures they’d drawn, how they were doing in school, how much they’d grown, that sort of thing. And then one time I came home on leave, and they met me at the airport. Imagine my surprise to see a bright blue cast on Cameron’s arm. He’d fallen off his bike weeks earlier and broken it in two places, and Marcus never said. I was furious! It was one of the biggest rows we ever had. He couldn’t understand why I was so angry, said that he hadn’t told me because he didn’t want to distract me from the work I was doing, because he knew how dangerous it was. _

_This is all a roundabout way of saying that you can tell me things, Serena. It’s not about ‘keeping up my morale’ or some nonsense. I want to get to know you better. I want to be there for you, as much as I can while I’m away. Maybe I’m off base, and you’re well within your right to tell me to mind my own bloody business, but I thought I should say it._

_Thinking of you, always._

_Yours,_  
_B x_

Serena blinks furiously down at the page for a moment, waiting for the haze of tears to recede. 

With most people, being seen so clearly would infuriate Serena, make her feel uncomfortably exposed. But there’s no judgement in Bernie’s words, and she makes no demands. Just an offer of care, of support, given freely in a way Serena’s rarely experienced in her life. It drives home just how accurate Bernie’s perception is, how much of herself Serena’s been holding back in their letters.

Maybe, she thinks, it’s time to step out from behind the armor of good old British reserve she normally prides herself on. Maybe there’s something so much better waiting on the other side.

Leaning back, Serena peers out the door. All’s still quiet on the ward, the nurses chatting softly at the desk. Reassured that she won’t be disturbed, Serena retrieves a sheet of Holby City hospital letterhead from her desk drawer, a soft smile playing on her lips as she thinks of what she wants to say.

_My darling Bernie…_

\- - - 

Shutting the door, Serena slumps back against it for a moment, eyes closed. There are times that the emptiness of her house bothers her, but right now she’s grateful for it, a bubble of quiet away from the world outside.

If only she could shut out her clamoring thoughts as easily.

Moving on autopilot she hangs her coat, shoes toed off beneath on her way to the kitchen, and it’s only a matter of moments before she’s sitting at the table, glass of wine in hand. She stares down into the dark liquid, the last long rays of sunset refracting through it. More than anything she wishes she had someone to talk to about all this. One of the downsides of her workaholic nature is that almost all of her closest friends are her colleagues, and this is hardly the sort of thing she wants to get into with them, no matter how well intentioned they may be.

Her eyes fall on the stack of stationary, set to one side on the table, a few lines scribbled on the top sheet. Words from Bernie’s last letter seem to swim across her vision: _You can tell me things, Serena. I want to get to know you better._

Before she can talk herself out of it, she takes a fortifying gulp of wine, and grabs her pen.

_It’s funny. We spend so much time worrying about our relationships with our children, I sometimes wonder if our parents felt the same? I think of my father, and I can’t picture him fretting over it. But then we always got on so well - I’ll admit I was a bit of a ‘daddy’s girl’. One of the perils of being an only child, I suppose. It certainly made things harder when he died while I was away at uni. It was a massive heart attack, out of the blue. I’m not sure I’ve ever really forgiven myself for not being there with him, not getting to say goodbye._

_My mother, on the other hand, was another thing entirely. What is it about mothers and daughters? Is it that we’re too much alike to get along? I know that sometimes I see the worst of myself in Elinor, maybe my mother felt the same._

_I had a patient today, someone I knew a long time ago. Actually I knew her mother more than I knew her. She was a hard woman, I can’t imagine growing up with her was a walk in the park! (Again, mothers and daughters!) Anyway, the girl, Alice, now lives in the house where I grew up, and she asked for me by name. Said she’d been close with my mother._

_Bernie, it’s like she was talking about a complete stranger. She kept going on and on about how wonderful my mother was to her, how they used to have tea and cake, and talk about all of their problems. The whole time, all I could think was how on earth could we be talking about the same Adrienne McKinnie? The woman I grew up with was far more likely to tell me that my problems were of my own making than give me any tea and sympathy. Hearing this practical stranger go on about what a kind, lovely woman she was...I’m still not sure what to feel about it all. Angry, I suppose. Angry that she gave that kindness to someone other than me. And sad, that I never got to know that side of her before she died._

_I joked with Alice, said that we’d had very different experiences with my mother. Do you know what she said? That she was surprised to hear that, because I was all my mother ever talked about. Apparently she was always going on to Alice about how wonderful and clever and talented I was. All this from a woman who was just as likely to proclaim chapter and verse of all my flaws as to say she was proud of me._

_I’m finding it hard to stop thinking about it. My mother had vascular dementia before she died, complication from a stroke. I took care of her as best I could, but it was hard on both of us. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically. I wonder now if it all would’ve been easier if I’d known her better. Been more patient, taken the time to really understand her._

_I wonder if I ever really knew her at all. And knowing that I missed my chance is like losing her all over again._

\- - - 

The letter lingers in Serena’s thoughts in the following weeks, hovers just out of sight, if never fully out of mind. She almost didn’t mail it, if she’s honest. Tucked away in the envelope with Bernie’s name across the front, she found herself unexpectedly nervous. What if the things she shared were more than Bernie expected? Faced with the mess that was Serena’s life, she might decide she’s better off without the trouble.

By the time Bernie’s response arrives, Serena is so anxious about it all that she can’t even open it at first. The envelope sits on her desk, just beside her keyboard, for the entire day; lurking like a viper, poised to strike at any moment. 

It’s only when she gets home that she finally relents. Pours a glass of wine and goes through to the sitting room, curls up on the sofa, hands trembling a bit as she works the paper free from the envelope.

_Serena -_

_You’re right. There is something about mothers and daughters. My mother and I also had a hard time understanding one another, and lord knows I’m hardly close with Charlotte._

_Still, I can only imagine how hard that was for you. Not just the things Alice told you - though that would have been more than enough to do my head in! But everything that came before._

_It’s silly, but I wish I’d known you back then. I find myself imagining if I’d come to work at Holby, if we’d met sooner. I wish I could have been there for you when things were hard, helped you through your mother’s illness. That’s not to say I don’t think you’re capable. You’re one of the strongest, smartest women I’ve ever known. But I think (I hope) I know you well enough by now to know that asking for help doesn’t come easily to you. The pot calling the kettle black, I suppose. I may not be any better at it myself, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the field, it’s that depending on the support of others, opening yourself to that trust, is a sign of strength, not weakness. There’s certainly no shame in it._

_This is all just my way of saying thank you. For telling me, for trusting me, for letting me in. It means more than I can say, and I can only hope that I’m worthy of that trust._

_Thinking of you, always._

_Yours,_   
_B x_

A genuine smile comes to Serena’s face for the first time all day, soft and tinged with wonder. Even half a world away, Bernie seems to know just what’s going on inside her head, the perfect words to make the responsibilities Serena so readily puts on herself that much easier to bear.

Her eyes travel back over the letter more slowly this time, letting the words sound out in her head in Bernie’s low voice. 

The idea of meeting sooner, of having Bernie as a friend and more when things were hardest, is hard to deny in its appeal. But as she mulls over the thought Serena finds all she can picture is what it would be like to have Bernie with her in the here and now. It’s effortlessly easy to picture coming home to that smile, chatting about their days over supper, and curling up on the sofa to doze in front of bad telly. Falling asleep each night with those strong arms wrapped safely around her.

It should be terrifying. They’ve known each other so little time, in the scheme of things, and there’s been no real talk of what the future might look like. But it’s not. Instead, it feels like puzzle pieces slotting into place, parts coming together to build the picture of a life Serena is only now realizing how much she wants.

And she thinks, _hopes_ , it’s what Bernie wants, too. That it’s not just fanciful thinking on her part, reading something between the lines that isn’t actually there.

That they both want this, together.

Folding the letter carefully, Serena sets it to the side, intent on scrounging something up for supper. Knows it won’t be the last time she reads it tonight, that she’ll once again fall asleep with Bernie’s words swirling in her mind.


End file.
